


Ever Found Exactly What You Wanted (With Someone You Can't Have it With?)

by pinkoptics



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik Has Feelings, Erik has Issues, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is a Father, M/M, Mutual Pining, because he takes care of the kids, dadneto, no tag could be more appropriate, so much mutual pining, what's more freaking adorable than that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-02-09 23:10:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12898845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkoptics/pseuds/pinkoptics
Summary: Erik and Charles both want the same thing.Love.Belonging.But most of all?Family.Can they find it in each other?





	1. Erik

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/gifts).



> (AKA Nanny Fic, AKA Not Mine)
> 
> This is entirely self-indulgent.
> 
> My heart wanted FEEEEEELS and lots of them. Should anyone elses' heart desire some feeeeeeeels... you may have come to the right place.
> 
> This is one of those ideas that was just running around my brain (over and over) that I likely never would have written down, but certain people encouraged me. A lot. And called me an evil cow, which is apparently motivating.

The day had been long. 

Exhaustion pulled at every part of Erik- his body slouched, seeking the comfort of something soft and cushioned, and his eyelids weighted down as if by anchors he could not see and almost impossible to keep open. He sagged against the wall beside the door to his unit and fumbled with his keys for a small eternity before he remembered he did not need them at all. The lock turned slowly under the influence of his powers, even they were functioning more slowly than usual. The knob turned and the door pushed open under their influence as well, freeing his hands to loosen his tie as he entered. Setting his briefcase on the entryway side table, Erik wearily made his way into the apartment's living area, ready to thank Charles, yet again, for watching the kids through another late night stint at the office.

The words, however, never left his mouth. The sight that greeted him stole them away, because it was quite possibly the most perfect thing Erik had ever seen in his life. 

Charles and the twins were asleep on the couch. Peter was nestled against Charles on one side, small fingers curled into Charles' cozy looking cardigan. Wanda was nestled against the other, face half buried in Charles' shoulder. Charles' head was resting where it had fallen back against the sofa. His slightly too long hair had tumbled across his forehead and into his eyes, just begging to be swept back by Erik's fingers.

He wanted nothing more than to do just that. 

To move over to where they had clearly fallen asleep while watching a film. The menu screen of 'Finding Nemo' was running softly in the background, the light of the TV flickering over their figures in the dark. Erik would push Charles' ridiculously floppy hair aside and drop down next to Wanda. He would curl up against her tiny form, resting his arm across her until it lay against Charles' chest and his hand could curl overtop Peter's smaller one. It would be a foolish way to sleep, but Erik didn't care. It looked so warm, so inviting, that it hardly seemed to matter that they would all wake at some point in the night with sore backs and cricked necks. 

However, Erik did not move from where he was rooted next to the television. He didn't card his hand through Charles' soft hair. He didn't collapse next to Wanda and curl around the three people he loved most in this world because only two of them loved him back.

Charles wasn't his.

Not his boyfriend, not his lover, not his partner, not his husband.

Charles was Wanda and Peter's caregiver, nanny, and would likely never be anything more. 

No, not likely, because the word 'likely' implied hope of a future where it was a possibility. It was not because Erik would not dare risk it. Wanda and Peter loved Charles, deeply, as though he was also their father. Their level of attachment was dangerous enough as it was and he could not, would not, do anything to jeopardize Charles’ place in their lives. They had already suffered enough, devastated by the death of their mother. What if he and Charles were to give it a go and it didn’t work out? What if he asked and Charles rejected him outright, leaving because it would be too awkward to nanny for man who wanted more from him? A man who mooned over him like some sort of heart sick puppy. How could Erik dare to risk tearing another person so dear to them away from them? He couldn't.

So instead he stood, unable to move forward, but unable to look away because he wanted this. God, he wanted it. It was right there in front of him and he couldn't have it. 

Instead, he aggravated the ache in his heart by letting his mind run away with foolish domestic fantasies. He imagined Charles waking in that moment, eyes fluttering open, shaking his head gently to jostle away the remnants of sleep and the hair obscuring his vision. He would catch sight of Erik hovering just a few feet away. A fond smile would turn up the corners of his mouth, his blue eyes brightening with affection. He would not speak though, at least not aloud, but into Erik's mind so as to not wake the twins. Charles would indicate which of the twins Erik should scoop up, while handling the other himself. Together, they'd lay them down in their bedroom, tuck them up neatly, before Erik would steal a lazy, sleepy kiss. Exhausted from the day, Erik would try to tumble into bed without first removing his clothes, too weary to care. 

Charles would swat at him and begin to remove Erik’s clothes for him, gently loosening his tie, undoing the buttons of his shirt. These were actions that could be interpreted as sexual and certainly would be at another time and in a different context, but here spoke only to the care with which Charles liked to bestow upon him, caring for them all. Once his garments were removed they would curl up in bed together, Charles pressed against his back, placing light kisses against his neck. Still no words escaping their lips, there was no need as Charles effortlessly maintained the connection between their minds. They would fall asleep uttering sleepy affection, content in the knowledge of having each other, of having Wanda and Peter, of being a family. 

Fuck.

Erik would never have admitted it, not to anyone, but his face was wet. The ache in his chest almost unbearable, making it challenging to take a proper breath. He didn't know why he did this, why he tortured himself with these fantasies, with the knowledge of what would never be, what he did not deserve, and never would. 

No.

That was exactly why, wasn’t it? The pain was a reminder, the longing was what he had earned, the ache his penance. He pushed the back of his hand against his cheeks and eyes, dispelling the wetness. 

Wanda and Peter were happy. The absolute happiest they had been since. . . Magda. They deserved it. They deserved Charles. Charles who was kind, full of empathy and joy, who was so good to them, so good with them, undoubtedly better than Erik was himself. In so many ways, Charles was everything he was not. He loved his children, adored them, but he wasn't Magda, wasn't Charles, and never would be.

And so this is where he would stay, on the outside, looking in. Wanting, craving and longing but never having because it was worth it- for them.


	2. Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Charles feeeeels shall now commence, because you know he’s pining just as hard as dear Erik.

"Did you fall asleep on the couch again?" Erik's voice was full of barely restrained laughter, but fond.

"Hmmm?" was all Charles managed as a reply, his voice a bit hoarse. "Beg your pardon?"

This time there was a low chuckle. "Even half asleep you're beyond polite. Impressive."

Charles blinked away the vestiges of sleep still clogging his mind, feeling a warm hand push back his always unruly hair and settle there for a minute, stroking.

"No excuse not to be polite," Charles insisted and leaned into the touch as Erik came into focus. "Now what was it you were saying?"

"You fell asleep on the couch again." Charles looked down at himself, Wanda and Peter for confirmation. So they had.

He huffed, "You try running about after these two all day and then you can talk to me about falling asleep on the couch. At least I had the sense to put us all in our pyjamas prior to starting the film this time."

Erik leaned down and pressed his lips against Charles' in a barely there kiss that left his nerve endings tingling and wanting more, much much more. When Erik pulled back he said, "You certainly are the smarter of the two of us. Even if you don't have the sense to just go to bed."

Despite these words, Erik sat down on the other side of Wanda. He curled himself around her as best he could and rested his hand over the approximate place of Charles' heart.

Charles let out a quiet snort, "What was that about having the sense to just go to bed?"

Erik gave him the shark-like smile that he loved so much and gave a gentle shrug. "You all looked very comfortable, perhaps there's something to this couch nonsense."

"As you said," Charles grinned, "I am the smarter of the two of us."

Erik nestled himself further into the cushions. "That you are. Now, shall we go back so you can see the end of the film, given that you never see the end of any film?"

Charles almost laughed, but managed to hold it back, for the sake of the sleeping children.

"Now see here- "

There was a sudden coldness at Charles' side, which made very little sense what with Wanda and Erik draped against him, but it was there nonetheless. He frowned, wondering at the bizarre and sudden sensation.

"Charles?"

"I-I don't know. . . It's strange but- "

The room tilted and blurred and then it was the same, but not the same. The menu screen for Finding Nemo was still flickering in the background. Peter was still pressed up against one side of him but Wanda was not on the other and neither was Erik.

Erik was above him lifting Wanda away in a manner that was clearly meant not to disturb the other occupants of the couch.

A dream.

A disturbingly technicolour dream that had Charles questioning his own sanity, but a dream nonetheless.

His heart cracked.

He hadn’t realized his subconscious could be so cruel. It had been so vivid that Charles swore he could still feel the ghost of Erik’s kiss against his lips. He wanted to reach up, press his fingers to his mouth and somehow preserve the feeling, but already it was fading, all of it was fading, back into reality. Charles blinked, fighting back a sudden rush of emotion. Cruel, so very cruel. Not only the kiss, but all of it, every last teasing moment. He let his eyes fall closed again until he could sort himself out.

When he opened them again, his eyes fell upon Erik, who had paused in the middle of the living room, cradling Wanda gingerly to his chest. His lips were pressed against her forehead, concern buffeting up against Charles’ mind. She mumbled as she tried to sink further into the sanctity of her father's arms, skirting the line between asleep and awake. Charles thought, for an exceptionally brief moment, of slipping into Erik’s mind and warning him to be as gentle as possible because Erik’s concern was warranted. Wanda had taken ill and been exceedingly uncomfortable all evening, irritably insisting on watching the movie with he and Peter even though she obviously should have been in bed. He had put up a good fight, but eventually gave in to her wishes once he had felt the pure misery rolling off her tiny frame. If they woke her now, who knew how long it would take to get her back down.

Charles didn't speak, however, neither aloud nor in Erik’s mind.

Not because Erik had ever asked him not to. He had always seemed impressed with and accepting of Charles' mutation and had, in fact, partially hired him because of it. Wanda and Peter were in the delicate stage of coming into their powers, unpredictable and often out of control, and the public school system had no idea of how to handle it. Charles had often thought. . . well . . . it was a pipe dream for another day.

No, the real reason Charles did not enter Erik's mind was the intimacy of it. Speaking to someone in that way was nothing like speaking aloud. They felt you, inside, and you felt them. Charles could limit the intimacy of it but. . . knowing Erik in that way, _feeling_ Erik in that way, it was a longing, a craving, he already had a challenging time ignoring. The fleeting experiences he’d had of Erik’s mentality. . . _god_ , it was like no other.

"Charles," Erik's voice interrupted his thoughts, soft but surprised. "I'm sorry, I tried not to wake you."

Charles shook his head, and brought his finger to his lips in the universally acknowledged sign for ‘quiet’. He scooped Peter up in his own arms and nodded in the direction of the twins' bedroom. Erik followed along readily enough and they managed to deposit their charges with only a few sleepy grumbles at being moved, but little else. Erik closed their door with a deftness that spoke volumes to the control he wielded over metal, the hinges and door knob making absolutely no sound that Charles could detect.

When they were back in the living area, Charles got his first proper look at Erik. Though the room was still shrouded in semi-darkness, Charles’ eyes had adjusted enough to see that even dishevelled, Erik was unfairly gorgeous.

Though he had no personal evidence, Charles was quite sure that Erik was the sort of person who rolled out of bed looking like he had peeled himself off the page of a magazine. At this moment, however, Charles could see that Erik’s usually ordered hair was tousled, his immaculately pressed dress shirt rumpled and his tie askew. Though Erik normally looked like a walking and talking Armani advert, Charles discovered that he preferred this- seeing Erik’s sharp edges softened.

Unfortunately, Erik was not simply dishevelled from a long day. Everything about him radiated weariness- from the bags under his eyes, to the slump in his shoulders, to the exhaustion he was inadvertently projecting. He was projecting so forcefully that any telepath in the vicinity with even a sliver of skill would have picked up on it. Charles began to feel it pulling on his eyelids and limbs with enough strength that he needed to shore up his mental walls to keep Erik's state from becoming his own.

This would not do.

"Erik,” he announced. “I’m going to make you a cup of tea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are still enjoying my foray into torturing our poor boys by putting everything they want right in front of them and not letting them have it. *pats them* Sorry boys (but not really)


	3. Erik

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys bond over tea and ache for each other some more... because that's pretty much 100% what this fic is all about. *g*

Erik had tried to protest. It was late, he didn’t drink tea (Charles had looked mortally offended on behalf of the motherland) and he was someplace beyond tired that he barely comprehended. Charles, though, was having none of it. 

In truth, it was not so much for any of those reasons that Erik protested, it was more that he felt strangely and uncomfortably vulnerable. Torn open and laid bare, as his extreme exhaustion had clearly worn away at the iron control he usually had over his feelings. He’d been crying at the sight of Charles sleeping on the couch with his children for christ’s sake and he could generally count the amount of times he cried on one hand - each decade. The last thing he wanted was for Charles to witness some sort of weak show of emotion. However...

“Erik, you are completely knackered, so I am making you a cup of tea whether you like it or not."

It was the same stern voice that Charles used on the children when he was insisting they do something they’d rather not. It made Erik smile despite himself, which was something he had not done all day, and he felt he was helpless to do anything other than relent to Charles’ wishes. 

The man in question was navigating the cupboards, heating the water in the kettle and Erik was enjoying the view from where he was sat at the kitchen table. Charles knew his way around and was finding everything easily. This was not surprising as he’d been in their lives for months now and was in the apartment all day with Wanda and Peter, making them snacks and lunch. It made sense that Charles knew his way around the kitchen as though he lived there, but if Erik squinted and blurred the lines of reality he could almost make himself believe, for a moment, that this familiarity was borne of entirely different reasons. That Charles lived there, belonged there, and that this was a ritual they performed in each night after they had put their children to bed. A quiet cup of tea, lovingly prepared. A moment of peace they could share in their otherwise too hectic lives.

“So what’s happened?”

Erik blinked, once again caught up in fantasy. “Sorry?”

“At work. Since I’ve been here I haven’t known you to work so late so often, or be so exhausted.”

Erik wasn’t sure he wanted to go into it. He tended to think of complaining as a weakness. You gritted your teeth and endured it, because you had to, or you did something to change it. Besides that, even thinking about it seemed to double the intensity of the exhaustion he was already feeling, but the rules of polite conversation dictated he had to give Charles something, and once he’d started to regale Charles with his work woes he found quite the opposite from what he’d expected - he couldn’t seem to stop. Weeks and weeks of mounting frustrations poured out of him in a deluge. Unreasonable clients, even more unreasonable senior partners, unfeasible deadlines, inept co-workers. . .

All the while Charles listened. Truly listened in a way Erik now realized most people did not. After endless weeks on a project where he felt he was beating his head against a very hard wall that no one seemed to be able to see but him, he felt. . . heard. The relief of it was more profound than he could have guessed it might feel. The unbearable weight he had been carrying felt lighter, easier, because now it was shared.

Fuck. Charles was going to be the death of him.

He clamped down harder on the emotions roiling just beneath the surface of his control, threatening to crack through once more. 

As Erik’s rant came to an end, Charles looked contemplative. He was resting his head on one hand, elongating and exposing the pale column of his throat. Whatever Charles was thinking, it gave Erik entirely too much opportunity to study a freckle that had appeared just above the collar of his shirt. He could imagine, all too easily, moving over to where Charles was sitting and straddling him on the chair, placing his mouth over that freckle and sucking hard enough on it to elicit a moan from that too red mouth. Pulling aside Charles’ collar and seeing if that freckle was joined by any others and giving them the same slow, torturous treatment with his lips and tongue.

Fuck. Charles _was_ going to be the death of him.

He did not know what was worse in this moment, being overly emotional or overly aroused.

Once again, Charles broke through his thoughts. “Have you thought about starting your own architectural firm?”

That took him aback. He had thought about it. In fact, he’d thought about it a great deal.

Charles went on, “From everything you’ve just said it’s abundantly clear how indispensable you are to your firm. The number of times you’ve butted heads and argued with clients and the senior partners… I’m quite sure you’d not still be employed if you weren’t indispensable to them. That’s a true mark of your worth to others in your field. But your sketches, Erik. They’re… they’re unlike anything else I’ve seen. Beautiful but functional, manipulating steel structure in ways I’m sure only you could. They’re the sort of buildings that would draw people from around the globe just to see them.”

“You’ve seen my sketches?”

Charles blinked. “Was I… was I not supposed to? Wanda said she’d left Knuffle Bunny in your office and I went to fetch him. They were laid out on your desk. Erik, I’m sorry if—”

“No, stop. It’s all right, Charles. There’s no reason you shouldn’t have seen them.” It was only that… well, he hadn’t really ever shown them to anyone since Magda. 

“I’m no architect of course, but Erik, I think they’re magnificent. I think it’s clear that you have a gift. Have you thought about your own firm?”

Erik twisted the mug between his hands, gripping it too tightly and releasing it in turns. “I have,” he began, softly, “in fact, there was a time when I would have thought, by now, that I would be running my own firm. It’s just that—”

Charles waited, patiently, for him to continue. It was several moments before Erik could bring himself to say it.

“After Magda died, there was only one income, my income. I’m well paid for what I do, enough to take care of Wanda and Peter, enough to pay you to take care of them when I can’t. If I tried to start my own firm and it failed… I’m not only risking myself, I’m risking the wellbeing of my children. I will not do that to them.”

Charles’ hand slid across the short distance of the table and came to rest upon his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re a good man, Erik. A good father.”

Charles’ hand was as warm and soft as his words. Erik rarely felt as though he were doing anything right by Wanda and Peter, seeing so many failures and judging himself wanting. To hear this from Charles, who was intelligent and kind, loosed more roiling emotion within him. Charles’ thumb stroked across Erik’s knuckles and he could not tear his eyes away from the rhythmic motion. He feared if he did, that something within him would break. He knew he should pull away, but he couldn’t. If this was all he ever got from Charles, he’d take it. Selfishly, he’d take it.

Eventually, Charles’ hand retreated. “If I’m going to make the last train, I’d best leave now.” Erik’s eyes flicked up to see Charles looking at the clock on the stove. _Mein Gott_ , he’d truly asked more of Charles than was reasonable, no matter what he was paying him.

“No, Charles, please. You know we have a guest room. Please take it tonight.”

There was definite hesitation in Charles’ vibrant eyes. They seemed to war between what was polite and what was necessary.

“If you’re sure…”

“Of course, it’s no trouble.”

“I don’t have anything- pyjamas, toiletries, perhaps it would be best if—”

Erik cut him off. “No, don’t be silly. You can borrow some of my night clothes and we have extra toiletries. You will not be any kind of inconvenience. We- Wanda and Peter will be thrilled to see you in the morning. It’s settled.”

Some distant voice seemed to question if Erik had lost his mind. 

He ignored it.


	4. Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we've moved from emotional pining to lustful pining, however I promise to return to the feeeeeeeeeeels very very soon.

Charles’ sleep that night was fitful. Though the bed and the pyjamas Erik had given him were more than comfortable, Charles could not seem to get comfortable, so he drifted in and out of consciousness. He was plagued by dreams he could not remember when he woke, but left unpleasant lingering feelings he could not account for. At one point, the digital clock blinked 3:01, then 3:17, then 3:26 and Charles could no longer stand it. He threw back the covers and sat up, scrubbing at his face. A quick walk around the apartment, a glass of water, a stop at the bathroom- that was what he needed. Perhaps it would shake whatever it was that was preventing his rest.

He exited the guest room and flicked on the hall light. It, along with muscle memory, was more than enough to navigate the familiar interconnected spaces of the flat. He walked up to the apartment’s only bathroom and went to turn the knob. Before he could, the knob itself turned and Erik stepped out.

Oh.

They both stood and stared at each other with comically wide eyes, surprise written across both of their faces. If Charles had thought Erik looked dishevelled before, he was not entirely sure what word to use to describe Erik now. Of course, one’s vocabulary at 3:30 in the morning was rather limited, but he now knew he had been mistaken about one thing— Erik did not roll out of bed looking like a walking and talking Armani ad. Erik was… soft. His hair was in disarray, sticking up at delightfully odd angles, and curling at the ends. From the way Erik styled it, Charles had always assumed it was straight, but found he liked this a rather lot more. The rigid style of the day did not invite touch, but he now wanted desperately to know what Erik’s hair felt like slipping through his fingers. One side of Erik’s face still bore the impression of his pillow and that made the corners of Charles’ mouth quirk up. This was Erik as no one ever saw him.

Charles’ eyes slipped from Erik’s face to his torso, where a plain grey cotton tee shirt clung to his broad shoulders. Not in an obscenely tight manner, but just enough that Charles could see hints of definition across his chest and abdomen that a man who worked as hard as Erik did, and had no time to frequent a gym, had no right having. Charles had to again suppress the impulse to touch Erik, to run his hands over fabric softened from many washes. Charles’ eyes dipped lower, continuing their perusal, and stopped dead.

“Fuck me.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Charles’ eyes snapped up to Erik’s, followed quickly by a flood of embarrassment that scored his cheeks an undoubtedly deep red. His throat tightened impossibly, full of words clamouring to come out all at once, but what the bloody hell was one supposed to say after being caught looking at their boss’ cock? _Sorry, but that’s possibly the most impressive cock I’ve ever seen, and while ‘Fuck me’ was an exclamation of surprise, I wouldn’t at all mind if you took me back to your bedroom right now and did just that._

Complete and utter avoidance was absolutely the best and only option.

“I— uh— My apologies, I just… I just need to use the loo.”

Erik was still blocking his path and Charles made a deft motion to indicate as such. Erik blinked a few times, clearly still trying to process what was happening, and Charles did not believe he was mistaken in thinking there was a hint of a flush staining Erik’s cheeks as well.

“Right,” Erik said and he side-stepped so that Charles could pass by him to enter the bathroom. When there was room enough, Charles did so quickly, not meeting Erik’s eyes again and shutting the door swiftly behind him. He took his time, much more than was necessary, in the hopes that he was delaying long enough that there would be no chance of running into Erik again. When he finally did re-enter the hall, he skipped the planned glass of water all together and scurried back to the guest bedroom, flopping unceremoniously back onto the mattress and coming very swiftly to the realization that sleep was not going to come any more easily to him now than it had before.

Erik.

Fuck.

Charles had always been attracted to him, right from his first interview for the caregiver position. He could scarcely imagine how anyone could not be attracted to Erik, unless devastatingly handsome was not your type. It had been more than Erik’s physical appearance however. Charles had an admitted ‘thing’ for strong silent types. Their mentalities were captivating, their inner worlds rich and complex, and rarely shared with anyone. His telepathy always sought such layered minds and Erik’s had been one of the most vibrant he’d ever encountered. His initial attraction had been so strong he had almost to turned down the position for that reason alone. Now, he’d seen both sides of Erik— polished and gorgeous, soft and mussed, and both were equally desirable.

And then, there was the thought he had been trying exceedingly hard to push from his mind, which only made the thought all the more insistent— Erik did not wear underwear to bed and from the way the fabric of his pyjama pants had fallen, he may as well have not been wearing that either.

Charles _had not_ needed to know that on top of being the most beautiful man Charles had ever seen, Erik quite likely had the most beautiful cock he had ever seen as well.

His minds eye could not be stopped and Charles began to imagine their encounter in the hallway turning out quite differently. How easily he could have fallen down to his knees and grasped Erik’s hips with his hands. There had been just a hint of skin visible above Erik’s low slung pyjama bottoms and Charles wanted badly to be able to nudge his shirt up just a little higher with his nose and press his mouth against Erik’s flat abdomen. Erik’s mind would be awash first with shock at Charles’ sudden and unexpected actions, muscles tensing involuntarily at the first touch of Charles’ lips, but that shock would have turned quickly to arousal as Charles’ tongue explored the line of Erik’s hip, learning the taste of his skin as he licked. That, though, was not the taste that Charles wanted to learn most.

Sitting back on his heels, Charles would look, really look, at what he had only been able to catch a glimpse of, letting his eyes first take their fill— Erik’s cock, resting against his inner thigh, covered by flimsy, well worn flannel, and beginning to harden. Charles would look up, wanting to see again the hint of a flush that had graced the cheeks of a man Charles would have thought incapable of blushing and only then he would give in to the need curling in his gut. Pressing forward, he would rub his cheek against that growing hardness, nuzzling at it and breathing in the scent that would be Erik’s and Erik’s alone. At this intimate knowledge, his own hardness would begin to become insistent, but Charles would ignore it, enjoying the delay in his own pleasure as he sought Erik’s. He would nuzzle and rub, face buried in Erik’s crotch until Erik would let out a breathy plea, but even then Charles would take mercy on neither of them, beginning to mouth at that impressive length until the fabric became damp and Erik was leaning against the wall for support.

Of course, Charles would only be able to keep this up for so long, until his and Erik’s need became such that he had no choice but to again lean back on his heels and slip Erik’s pants down past his hips, revealing all. And then, finally, Charles would get to learn the taste he now craved even though he did not know it, taking Erik into his mouth—

Fuck.

What in the bloody hell was he doing?

Charles was panting, hand down his own pyjama bottoms, fantasizing about his boss, in his boss’ flat, ready to get himself off in his boss’ guest bed, with his boss’ children sleeping down the hall. He wrenched his hand out of his underwear and rolled over until his hardness was trapped uncomfortably between himself and the mattress.

Penance, because Charles was well and truly fucked.


	5. Erik

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more lustful pining. Also, the twins finally make their first true appearance, and believe me I am going to have a lot of fun with these two because they are going to have a lot of fun with Erik and Charles. :) Next chapter, we will return to the FEEEEEEEELS.

“Papa, why are you putting egg shells into the pancake mix?”

Erik blinked, looked down at the bowl he was cracking eggs into and sure enough he had dropped the egg and its shell into the bowl. And mixed it in. _Verdammt_. There was no saving it, so he dumped it into the trash and started over.

“A mistake, Knuddelbär.”

Wanda, ever the clever one, blinked at him both quizzically and suspiciously before returning to the picture she was drawing.

One capability Erik had always prided himself on was his razor sharp focus. He had the unparalleled ability to keep all other distractions at bay and productively accomplish just about anything in half of the time it would take most others. He had little doubt that this was a strong factor in his lack of popularity at the office. Most of his co-workers tolerated him with barely concealed hatred, however if they couldn’t get their shit together the way he could that was hardly his fault. He was happy to tolerate them with barely concealed antipathy. Today, however, his ability to focus seemed to have abandoned him entirely and it was no mystery as to why.

Charles was in his house, in his bed. Well, his _guest_ bed, but that distinction did not seem to matter to his brain in the slightest.

He had awoken that morning in a manner he had not since his youth— impossibly hard, sweating, with lingering feelings and images of the dream he’d awoken from still swamping his senses. It was the most vivid sex dream Erik had experienced in some time. Not that he’d had sex in it, no, but he’d had Charles on his knees in front of him sucking him off better than anyone had done in his entire life. Clearly, running into Charles in the hall in the middle of the night had affected him quite deeply. And, really, how could it not have? It had been a perfect storm. Charles’ already ridiculous, adorable, floppy hair had been even more ridiculous, floppy and adorable from sleep. Charles in _his_ sleep clothes. There was nothing particularly special about the clothes. Just a plain, long-sleeved cotton shirt and plain, grey sweat pants, but they were too large on Charles. Just large enough that the collar hung slightly off one shoulder, giving Erik the knowledge he had wanted to seek out when Charles had made him tea the night previous— Charles’ freckles did indeed stretch down past his neck and the urge to follow them and suck at them until Charles shivered with want, had not waned in the slightest. And, of course, the pyjamas were his, which made it seem like Charles was _his_ , his mind projecting ‘ _mine_ ’ loudly enough that he wouldn’t have been surprised if Charles had heard.

Then, Charles had looked at him _there_.

Unmistakably and appreciatively. Erik wasn’t used to having guests. He wasn’t used to thinking about propriety, so he hadn’t thought Charles would see him in his pyjamas, hadn’t thought to put on underwear, because he never did when he slept. Charles had gone so deliciously red and so adorably flustered that it had taken everything in him not to hoist Charles over his shoulder and haul him back to bed. Erik knew he was not unattractive and whether Charles’ desire was superficial, something genuinely deeper, or just a thing for big cocks… it hardly mattered. Charles was off limits in every sense and even if Charles did want him that did not change things in the slightest.

That, however, did not seem to matter to his sleeping mind.

The dream. _Fuck_. Charles mouthing and licking and sucking at his cock through his pyjama pants, teasing him mercilessly until he had both wanted to beg for relief and beg for it to never end. But when the wet heat of Charles’ mouth had closed around him… _Mein Gott_. Charles had taken him deep into his throat and worked him in a way that few could, that few even bothered to try. When he had awoke, sweating and breathing hard, Erik swore he could still feel Charles swallowing around him, tonguing the head, and driving him mad with the desire to fuck into that mouth. The ache had been so profound Erik was ashamed of what had happened next. He had let his hand slide down past his abdomen and into his pants to grip his painfully hard length. He had let the images and sensations of the dream replay in his mind again and again. He had stroked himself until he came harder than he had in a very long time, imagining Charles swallowing him down until he could return to earth.

He had taken a painfully cold shower after that. Not that he had particularly needed a cold shower anymore but the punishment of it seemed fitting after wanking like a horny teenager who couldn’t fucking help himself. Not to mention that the man he was wanking over was sleeping down the hallway, and a telepath, and Erik was sure he’d broadcasted his arousal so loudly that if Charles had been awake there was no way he would have missed it. That could certainly make things… awkward and he really ought to have better control over himself. Erik wasn’t sure the punishment of the cold shower had even been enough, because he still couldn’t get Charles out of his mind (egg shell littered pancake mix was evidence enough of that) to the point of wondering what it would take— bathing in a tub full of ice?

It did not help that through a door just in the periphery of his vision Charles was sleeping, warm and soft, and in Erik’s sleep clothes, and—

“Papa, why do you keep looking at the door?”

Jolted to the present, he once again eyed his all together too observant daughter, who waited expectantly for an answer. He supposed a half-truth was warranted.

“Do you promise not to scream?” Wanda was an unqualified squealer at even the tiniest bit of excitement. This, of course, piqued her curiosity even further and she began to bounce slightly in her chair.

“I promise! I promise!”

“Charles is sleeping in the guest room.”

This caused Peter to take an interest in the conversation. His head whipped around at a speed that would have been considered alarming if you had no idea what Peter’s mutation happened to be. In the sort of creepy unison that only twins were capable of they both shouted, “What?!”

To her credit, however, Wanda did not squeal.

“He was up very late taking care of you, so I told him to sleep here for the night.”

At this new information, Peter abandoned his lego set and joined Wanda at the kitchen table. “Can we go wake him up?”

Erik gave him his hardest stare. “You absolutely may not. Today is supposed to be his day off, so the least we can do is allow him to sleep as long as he can.”

“But Daaaaad.”

“Papa said no.” Wanda looked at her brother as pointedly as Erik just had, and for not the first time Erik wondered which one of them was the parent.

Peter stuck out his tongue. “You are not the boss of me.”

“Listen,” Erik said, interrupting the sibling squabble that was likely about to erupt. “If Charles isn’t awake by the time breakfast is ready, then you may wake him up. Deal?”

Peter’s eyes lit up, but then again, so did Wanda’s. Both of them fell immediately into a silence that was so complete it was eerie. Clearly, the prospect of getting to wake Charles up was exciting enough that they weren’t going to take any chances on accidentally waking him up early. Wanda returned to her drawing and Peter to his lego.

Erik tried to pull his focus back to breakfast and away from the guest bedroom. It would not do any good to keep thinking about how he would like to wake Charles up, slipping into bed with him, pressing soft kisses to his neck and shoulder, palming him through the fabric of the his borrowed sweats until Charles would wake, squirming and moaning beneath Erik’s mouth and hand. Eventually, he would take mercy on him and pull Charles’ pants down so that he could put his mouth to work elsewhere.

With gargantuan effort, Erik managed to stop his thoughts there and bring them back to the bowl of pancake mix in front of him, lest he accidentally dump in more eggshells and have to start over for a third time. If he proceeded to stir and fold in ingredients a bit more vigorously than was strictly necessary, nobody was the wiser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are treasured and appreciated :)


	6. Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the twins get to have a little fun *g*

Charles awoke to an earthquake.

At the very least, that’s what it appeared to be to his sleep addled mind. He was tossed about on the bed, loud noises assaulted his senses and heavy objects dropped down upon him. His heart seized with instinctive panic until—

“Wanda, Peter! I told you both to be gentle.”

Charles blinked a few times to push away the remnants of sleep and the faces of two six year olds, grinning madly, came into focus. Despite their father’s shouted warning from the other room, they began bouncing around on top of him again. Even with the elbows and knees he was taking to his midsection, Charles found himself biting back a smile, tendrils of a plan quickly coming together in his mind. He assumed the most stern expression he could manage, summoning up his best impression of the most vicious Headmaster he had ever had in school, and said, “That was terribly rude of both of you, waking me up in such a manner. I’ll have you know I’m quite cross.”

The bouncing stopped almost immediately and twin pairs of surprised eyes snapped toward him. Clearly, this was not the reaction they had been expecting. Charles went on, “I am going to have to punish you severely for your actions.”

Their expressions went from surprised to panicked hurt, likely because he had never spoken to them in such a manner. Never one to enjoy causing anyone pain, Charles did not let them remain that way for long. “Your punishment will be... tickles!”

Charles launched himself at them, going right for the ribs. Immediately, they erupted into furious giggling— squirming and squealing and begging for mercy, but mercy he did not give.

“You deserve every tickle you get!”

“No—” Giggles. “Please—” Wheezing. “We’ll never wake you up again!”

This went on for a time, as the twins alternately tried to get away and tried to get him back, at least until Charles caught sight of Erik in the periphery of his vision. It was the look in his eyes that made Charles take pause, soft and fond yet touched with a strange intensity that made Charles’ heart start to beat just a bit faster. As their gazes locked, Charles found himself wanting to dip into Erik’s mind, needing to know what thoughts and feelings were behind that look. However, Wanda and Peter quickly realized they had an opening and attacked him on two fronts, breaking their gaze. Though they were quite terrible at it, Charles found himself laughing just as madly as the kids had been, his sides all together too sensitive. He was now the one begging for mercy.

It was Erik that saved him, “You know… if you all don’t stop this instant I might have to eat all the banana pancakes myself.” That halted Wanda’s efforts, who looked scandalized at the very prospect. “And the sausage too.” That stopped Peter, who looked equally affronted.

“Papa, there’s _no way_ you can eat all of that!”

“I don’t know…” Erik tapped his jaw thoughtfully. “I’m pretty hungry this morning. You’d better get out there before I can try.” This appeared to be more than enough motivation for the both of them and they clambered off him, rushing for the kitchen. Charles laughed and mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to Erik. Erik gave him a small, surprisingly shy smile, before he said, “I’ll let you change if you like, and then you can join us.” Once he had shut the door behind him, Charles did not move for a few long moments, giving his mind a moment to adjust to the fact that he wasn’t at home. He was at Erik’s, had been woken up by Erik’s exceedingly enthusiastic children, _at Erik’s_ , in Erik’s bed, well, sort of, but _**at Erik’s**_. Of course, he was at Erik’s Monday through Friday, but this was different. This was very very different.

He stopped his train of thought there, lest his thoughts run off, and changed quickly. He threw on yesterday’s clothes and neatly made up the bed before he ventured out into the main living area. Immediately, he was hit by the distinctive smells of a breakfast prepared by someone who knew what they were doing. His mouth watered immediately, almost embarrassingly. Toast with marmite was likely all he’d have bothered with if he had been at his own flat.

Wanda immediately took up hostess duties and directed him, “You can sit here.” She patted the seat next to her. “And Papa made banana pancakes! He never makes banana pancakes. Like never ever ever. Maybe chocolate chip if we’re lucky, but not banana. I told him before bananas are your fave and you could be a monkey you like them so much. That’s why we always have sooooo many bananas, like so so so many. Papa doesn’t even like bananas. Me and Peter think they’re maybe okay.”

Not sure if he should laugh or feel vaguely embarrassed at this banana related outburst of information, Charles’ eyes flicked to Erik. His defined cheekbones bore the same faint flush they had borne in the hallway last night. Caught. “Yes, well, Wanda may have mentioned it once or twice. Please, help yourself.”

Staring at the Food Network worthy stack of pancakes in front of him, Charles found himself becoming suddenly emotional. It wasn’t that no one had ever made him breakfast before. Certainly, he had been in enough relationships that some had been with individuals who liked to whip up breakfast… but this? He and Erik were not dating and, moreover, they could not even be termed friends, not really, and yet? Pancakes, starring his ‘fave’ fruit, a steaming cup of tea in front of him where Erik had coffee and the children, juice, and was that—

“Caramel sauce?”

“Yes, with a bit of cinnamon. A play on Bananas Foster, if you will.”

Wanda interjected, “You should sleep over all the time! Papa does not make us caramel sauce. I mean like never.”

The flush returned, perhaps a little stronger this time. “Sei ruhig, Knuddelbär. I’ve made caramel sauce before.”

“At my birthday maybe.” Wanda turned her attention back to Charles. “Wait, is it your birthday?”

Charles couldn’t quite suppress a bark of laughter. “No, I’m afraid it is not.”

Wanda was aghast with six year old indignation. “No fair! Why does Charles get caramel sauce?”

“Hang on!” Peter, who had been shovelling food into himself at a rather alarming rate, seemed to have realized something. “Are we going to have banana pancakes all the time now?”

Erik who was beginning to look slightly, though rather charmingly, distressed replied with a question of his own, “Why would we have banana pancakes all the time?”

“Because you’re doing sex with Charles."

Erik choked on his coffee. Charles nearly did the same with his tea. After a good deal of coughing and spluttering, it was Erik’s speech that recovered first, “I— I beg your pardon?”

Peter shrugged and his answer was barely comprehensible around his mouthful of sausage. “Tammy says when adults sleep over that means they’re boyfriends and girlfriends and they do sex and then get married.”

Erik’s expression began to waver between dumbfounded, horrified, embarrassed and disconcerted. Charles tried to hold back the bubble of laughter that was attempting to burst out of him - doing sex? - but found himself entirely unsuccessful. Once one bubble escaped another followed and then another. Erik gave him a pointed look that seemed to suggest, “You are not helping.” The children simply looked confused.

“Just how exactly did Tammy describe ‘doing sex’?”

“Two adults sleeping together.”

“Sleeping together,” Erik echoed, mortification not waning in the slightest.

“ _Yeah_.” Peter was now looking at his dad as though he were some kind of dunce. “You know, _sleeping_.” Peter made a few snoring sounds to help out his idiot father.

Erik’s normally schooled expression had fallen apart to such a degree that he was now looking at his children as though they had both planned this and teamed up to do him some sort of personal injury. Charles took pity.

“No darling. That may be true sometimes, but not all the time.” Charles had to pause because the next few sentences were surprisingly difficult to utter in more ways than one. “Your father and I are not boyfriends, we are not… doing sex. It was very late when he came home and he very kindly let me sleep here. We were not in the same bed, if you recall.”

Peter’s face screwed up in concentration, food temporarily abandoned. “But why do you have to be in the same bed to do sex?”

Charles broke out into more helpless laughter. “Would you like to field that one, Erik? It is just sleeping after all.”

“Mein Gott… No. Just kill me, please.” Erik let his head fall into his hands with a moan.

The conversation, already very much derailed, did not fair much better after that. In his role as caregiver, Charles also tutored the twins, and had worked very hard with them to develop curious, questioning dispositions. It was now coming back to bite them in the arse. They would not drop the confusing topic and what resulted was the most hilarious, uncomfortable, ludicrous and delightful breakfasts he had ever had. At one point, Charles had laughed so hard he cried, as Erik tried altogether unsuccessfully to explain that sleeping did not really mean sleeping in the way they understood it, without also fully explaining what ‘doing sex’ meant.

Eventually, mercifully, the twins gave up on having their curiosity satisfied and wandered off to play with their toys. He and Erik cleared the dishes and Charles insisted on helping despite Erik’s rebuffs. Hands deep in a sink of soapy plates, Charles was suffused with warmth that had nothing to do with the hot temperature of the water. He washed, while Erik dried, and they fell into a comfortable silence as they worked in rhythmic tandem. Scrub, rinse, dry, stack. Scrub, rinse, dry, stack.

Suddenly, “Thank you, Erik.”

“Oh,” Erik started slightly. “No, it was no trouble. Despite what Wanda may have led you to believe, it’s tradition to start off every Saturday with a breakfast like this.”

Every Saturday?

“No, it’s— ”

But, how could he possibly explain what this morning had meant to him? How he had not once in his entire childhood shared a breakfast like this with his family, so full of laughter, warmth, affection and openness. How his meals had been prepared by the cook and not homemade by thoughtful, loving hands. How his mother and Kurt, if they ate with him at all, barely said a word to him and told him to be quiet if he tried. How that quiet was necessary because mother was usually hung over and Kurt just did not fucking care.

How this morning had felt more like home than any morning on the estate ever had.

Charles stared hard at the mixing bowl he was scrubbing, knowing that there was no way, no call, to express any of it. “Just… thank you. I’ve… this morning was lovely.”

Erik took longer to respond than he should, but Charles did not dare to look at him. Something in his tone must have conveyed something of what he was feeling because Erik’s response was soft and simple.

“Bitte schön.”


	7. Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the zoo, anyone?

“Why do giraffes have such long necks? They look so silly!” Wanda turned from looking at the giraffes milling about the enclosure, to looking expectantly at Charles.

Charles beamed at her. “That’s a very interesting question.” However, his expression quickly became a touch sly. “Though, I think you know what I’m going to say.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, but the gesture was one of fond exasperation, rather than annoyance. “You want me to guess first.”

“Of course! And you as well, Peter. What do you think? Why would giraffes need such long necks? I bet you’ll both be able to figure it out.”

His children scrunched their small faces up in intense concentration as Erik, not for the first time since Charles had taken charge of their care and education, looked at them with amazement. They were both so… settled. Peter’s behaviour, particularly, floored him. A year ago, Erik would have been chasing him, trying to get him to stop climbing the bars separating them from the animals, while Wanda yanked at his sleeve and whined about how much she wanted ice cream. They had never been terribly behaved children, but Erik knew he had been too lax in handing out consequences and too indulgent when they wanted something after Magda’s death. It was challenging to be any other way when they had lost so much. He would never have guessed that he would be watching his son give thoughtful answers to questions concerning the evolution of animal adaptations, rather than trying to join them in the enclosure.

“I bet their tongues are soooooooo long so they can reach things better!” As the issue of elongated necks had been settled while Erik had been lost in thought, the conversation had turned to tongues and it was Peter who was looking to Charles now, his face hopeful.

“Bravo, Peter! It helps them to reach the leaves at the very top of the trees. Their tongues are also very thick, to protect themselves from the thorns of the acacia trees.”

Both Peter and Wanda ‘oooh’d’, actually ‘ _oooh’d_ ’, and continued to watch the giraffes eat in rapt fascination.

Charles was unbelievably good with them— Mary Poppins in a cardigan. Erik had watched as Charles had nurtured their curiosity and made them believe in their own intellectual prowess, even if they had no idea what such terms meant. They were more in control of their powers now than they ever had been, wielding them with more precision than Erik had ever seen in mutants so young. He had checked the less desirable aspects of their behaviour, the ones Erik had inadvertently and somewhat willingly let flourish, balancing firm with fair in a manner Erik had never himself mastered. However, all of this paled in comparison to… to the joy he had brought back into the twins’ life, and in turn, his own. There was laughter in the apartment again. An absence that had been so complete, Erik had not been aware of it until its shocking return. Charles had healed them, brought back to them the happiness and innocence of childhood, as much as was possible, for children who had lost a parent so violently.

He could never repay Charles for any of it.

Never.

He watched them now, the three of them still huddled together and puzzling through the ins and outs of giraffe anatomy. If Charles had any issue spending his Saturday, his day off, with his two charges, Erik could not detect it. The twins had begged so unrelentingly for Charles to join them on their zoo excursion that Erik had feared Charles had agreed only to spare their feelings or out of some misguided sense of obligation. His initial concerns seemed unfounded now. The broad smile Charles had worn the entire time they had been there, the easy laughter that had come from him over the twins’ antics, the attention he had heaped on them— it all spoke to a level of care that was much more than what duty called for, it was genuine, it had to be.

Charles was laughing and smiling now, as the twins tugged him by both hands in the direction of the hippo tank, their father all but forgotten. He didn’t mind, however, not when he got to see the way the blue of Charles’ eyes became brighter the wider he grinned, and got to experience how the sound of Charles’ laughter warmed parts of him that had been cold and dead for all too long. As the twins pulled him forward, Charles looked back and tilted his head in the direction of the hippos, indicating that Erik should follow. Not forgotten after all. The smile Charles gave him was as wide as the one he had for Wanda and Peter.

For a moment— a terrible, wondrous, awful, incredible moment— his family felt whole again.

The longing was crippling. Erik had to grit his teeth against the surge of tangled emotions that accompanied that wonderful, terrible thought. He had to ball his fists against the urge to catch up to them, to insert himself between Charles and Wanda, to squeeze Charles’ hand and lean closer to him so that he could whisper words in his ear that were for Charles alone, “Do you realize how amazing you are? With Wanda? With Peter? Do you realize how much I love you for it?”

It took Erik some time to realize he had not moved, as though the ache spreading from his chest to the tips of each limb, had rooted him to the spot. Movement was dangerous. If he moved he was not sure he could be held accountable for his actions or his words. Though the trio was farther away now he could still see them, down the ramp and in front of the tank. The twins had plastered themselves to the glass and were taking in the underwater view, while Charles was sitting on a viewing bench, leaning back against it. His arm was slung casually over the back of the bench, as if waiting for Erik’s body, inviting him to come and fill the space.

How?

 _How_ was this his life and not his life?

His children loved Charles. He loved Charles. Charles seemed to love his children. Could Charles…?

The man in question was looking back at him again, cocking his head at an unmistakably quizzical angle. Erik’s absence had stretched long enough to be noted as odd and Erik pulled his rooted feet off the cement floor of the building and pushed himself forward. With every step he tried to shake off the emotion he felt was leaking from him in a manner no telepath could block… assuming Charles was even trying.

It did not matter if Charles _could_ feel something for him. He could not risk it.

He repeated this, again and again. A mantra of sorts.

His children needed and deserved Charles more than he ever would.

Erik slid onto the bench and settled himself next to Charles, not quite where he wanted to be— leaning into that inviting space against Charles’ side. The hippos were swimming back and forth, occasionally spinning in a way that had Wanda and Peter squealing with delight. Between the squeals they seemed to be debating why— did hippos like to have fun? Why else would they somersault in the water? Or spray the crowd?

“You saved them.” The words escaped before Erik even realized he was saying them.

“I- I’m sorry?”

He might not be able to tell Charles everything, but he could tell him this. “You saved them.”

Immediately, Charles brushed him off. “Don’t be silly. I’ve only done my job.”

“No.” The word came out terse, almost harsh. Though he hadn’t meant to say it, Erik was overcome with a sudden need for Charles to know this, at least this. “You saved them.”

Colour warmed Charles’ cheeks. “While I appreciate what you’re saying, I’m sure—”

“No.” This time the word _was_ harsh, cutting through Charles’ with his abrupt need for Charles to understand. “You brought them back to life.” You brought me back to life. “I— I didn’t know how. I know that I... that I failed them in that...”

“Erik—” Charles immediately tried to protest but Erik forged on.

“I did, Charles.”

To admit this aloud was even more painful than every time he had admitted it to only himself, but if it helped Charles to understand how deeply Erik appreciated his presence in their lives... it was worth it. Erik had not been able to handle his own grief let alone understand how to help children so young understand and cope with their own. If he had been better, stronger, perhaps the public school system would not have quietly asked them to leave until they could ‘utilize their unique talents in a more productive and safe manner.’ No matter how greatly he had failed them, he knew had done one thing right. He had found Charles. Erik released a shuddering breath that let go of so much more than air. “Thank you for being there for them when I— when I wasn’t.”

When Charles said his name this time it was not in protest, it was soft and full of things Erik would not let himself contemplate. “Erik...” The hand that had been resting on the back of the bench came to rest on Erik’s shoulder. “You have two amazing children. I consider myself lucky to have been any part of their lives. If I have truly helped that much...” Erik did not think he was mistaken in seeing the sheen of wetness darkening the blue of Charles’ eyes. “Thank you for allowing me into their lives, into your home.”

How easy it would be to pull Charles closer, to cup that gorgeous face looking at him with such naked emotion. What Charles was feeling he did not know, hope and fear warring in his chest in equal measure. The hand on his shoulder was becoming a warm focal point. Perhaps resting a hand atop Charles’ wouldn’t be read as forward, perhaps it would be taken in the spirit of his admission— gratitude. Here, together, like this, with Wanda and Peter still thoroughly enjoying themselves in the periphery, all of Erik’s misgivings seemed so far away.

“Your kids are adorable!” The interruption was so jarring that it took them both several moments to realize they were being addressed by a woman pushing a stroller holding a sleeping toddler. “And gorgeous! I’ve been trying to decide which one of you is their dad. Well, I mean, their biological dad. She seems to have your brown hair and blue eyes,” the woman gestured at Charles, “but he seems to have your killer jawline.” She moved her hand to point at Erik.

She thought?

Oh.

Of course she did. The way they had been sitting, gazing at each other, what other conclusion could she reach?

Erik opened his mouth to contradict her presumption, but nothing came out. Words rarely came easily to him with strangers, however he very much doubted that was the problem at this particular moment. The idea of having to say ‘We’re not together’ aloud made him unable to speak— the sentence lodged painfully somewhere in his throat. Charles, however, had that talent that allowed him to speak easily to anyone, in any moment. Erik felt he could see the moment that Charles collected himself and was able to turn on his charm and dazzle her with his megawatt smile. “Quite the mystery, isn’t it? You’ll also note that while Wanda might have my eyes, Peter very much has Erik’s. Their colour is rather indiscernible. Blue? Green? Grey? One never knows.”

She, predictably, melted at Charles’ accent and posh way of speaking. Erik could hardly blame her, he had done much the same when he had met him, and every day thereafter.

“You’re not going to tell me? Oh, that’s so cruel.”

Charles laughed and flashed her another devastatingly charming smile. Erik felt a surge of ridiculous jealousy, only to have it evaporate as quickly as it had appeared when Charles turned to look at him and said, “It’s our little secret, isn’t it, darling?”

Erik’s mouth opened, presumably to offer some sort of response, but there wasn’t any air in his lungs. Darling?

“So, you’re a tease then.” She chuckled and leaned closer to them on her over-sized stroller, her tone becoming something close to conspiratorial. “I also can’t decide which one of you I’m more jealous of.”

Charles was still looking at him, smiling, but his expression shifted, just slightly, softening to something Erik couldn’t quite put his finger on. He said, “I can answer that one. It’s me. You ought to be jealous of me.”

Fuck.

What the fuck was Charles playing at? Erik’s heart was suddenly hammering in his chest to the point where he almost wasn’t able to hear what she said next over the sound of his own pulse rushing through his ears.

“God, the two of you are obscenely adorable as well. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again— all the best ones are gay.”

Her toddler chose that moment to wake up in spectacular fashion, wailing bloody murder and drawing her attention away from them, but Charles’ gaze did not move. He was still looking at Erik and his expression shifted again— still soft, but apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Erik.”

Erik, whose mind was still having trouble keeping up with… with all of this… still had very little to offer, “Sorry?”

“Yes, I apologize if I offended you by going along with her presumption and pretending that we are together. It’s only that… well, I know you’re no stranger to the more bigoted corners of our society. It was rather nice, for a moment, to experience some vocal acceptance.”

Erik’s emotions, which had been on a rollercoaster ever since he had invited Charles to stay over the night before, continued their wild swings and settled this time on disappointment. He _knew_ everything Charles had said had been for the stranger’s benefit and were not an indication of what Charles actually wanted, but hope did not have a tendency to listen to logic.

With some effort, Erik found his voice. “No, no offence taken.”

“Well, that’s good then.”

“Good.”

“Yes… good.”

Erik turned his eyes back to the twins, willing his longing, his love, his disappointment, his desire, his gratitude to settle— all the while wondering if allowing Charles to come with them had been a colossal mistake.

 


	8. Charles

The early afternoon sun was bright and warm against Charles’ fair skin, but had little to do with the feeling of contentment he was experiencing. Warmth was indeed suffusing his entire being— starting from his heart and spreading outward. It was a dangerous game he was playing, allowing this warmth to settle into every cell, allowing himself to believe that this day was representative of what his life had always been, and always would be. When the zoo closed in four short hours the mirage would dissipate, and he would be back in his flat, re-heating Chinese take-out, nursing a warmth that had turned to heartache with a generous glass of scotch. That heartache would come no matter what, so in this moment he would allow himself to enjoy this.

Erik and Peter were in line at the food stand and this provided Charles with an unobscured view of Erik’s back. He took in the broadness of Erik’s shoulders beneath his polo shirt and the narrowness of his waist. The obscene length of the queue was providing him with ample time to appreciate both and wonder what it might be like to step up behind him, wrap his arms around that narrow waist and bury his face between those shoulder blades. He and Wanda were reserving a picnic table and while he watched Erik, she was observing the pigeons pecking away at whatever food had fallen to the ground off the tables.

_Charles?_

He jolted at the sudden and piercing intrusion into his mind. Rather like an ice pick to the skull. He was unable to suppress his wince, but still managed to reply. _Remember, Wanda, you do not need to be so forceful._

There was a long pause, in which time Wanda visibly worked to gentle her tone. _Is that better?_

Less an ice pick and more a pin prick on this second attempt. _Yes, sweetheart._

There was another significant pause, but this one seemed to exist for her to collect her thoughts. She looked at Erik, back to him and then back to Erik. _Do you like Papa?_

Did he like Erik? The question was almost funny. Unsure what had prompted this line of questioning, but seeing no reason not to give some version of the truth, he answered with, _Of course. Your father is a very nice man._

There was yet another pregnant pause. Whatever was going on in Wanda’s young mind she was choosing her words carefully. Much like her father, who often only seemed to speak when he felt he had something significant to say.

_We always have pizza after we go to the zoo…. Will you come have pizza with us? You could even sleepover again. I’m sure Papa would say yes! Will you?_

Wanda managed to send a slightly distorted image of the pizza they usually ordered, how good it always smelled to her, and the taste of it on her tongue. Her powers were a constant marvel to him and not something that he fully understood. Whatever they would come to be, Charles felt they had only scratched the surface of what Wanda would one day be capable of. Charles shifted against the bench, trying to find words which would impart the least amount of hurt.

_Thank you for the invitation and I would certainly love to… however, I do need some time to continue work on my paper._

He did, he really _really_ did, but he knew it would hardly be what he got up to that evening— re-heated Chinese, scotch, misery. Wanda kicked at a pebble with her tiny sneaker. He felt smudges of sadness shade her mentality twilight blue but…

_I think Papa would like it if you came._

The sadness was not for herself.

Had he been speaking aloud his breath would have caught. As it was, he was immediately torn between contradicting her assertion and probing for why she thought so. In the end, it did not matter, because Wanda made the decision for him.

_He’s… he’s not as sad when you’re at home._

More fuzzy images and impressions entered his mind. This time of Erik— of how Wanda perceived him when Charles came through the door each morning to begin their day and when the door closed behind him at the end of it.

_Peter and me. Papa. We’re all happier when you’re there._

Wanda’s mental voice brooked no room for argument or contradiction. She said it with the conviction of an absolute truth— the sky is blue, water is wet, you make us happy.

_Wanda…_

_Are you sure you can’t come back home with us?_ Her eyes fell back to the pigeons, still happily pecking away. _I wish you were always there…_

Charles’ mental voice became as entirely useless as his physical one. Her words were infused with a longing that was painfully familiar because it was the same longing he experienced every day. The longing for family, for love, for wholeness.

_Wanda…_

“Two corndogs and fries coming right up!”

Peter had zipped in so fast that the food very nearly ended up in the dirt. Only Erik’s impressive reflexes saved the tray.

“I don’t know how you eat those things,” Erik said as he passed the corndogs to a silent Charles and Wanda. “They are an affront to all things culinary.” Charles squirted a generous amount of ketchup and mustard over the breaded monstrosity, his only answer to Erik being an overlarge, entirely exaggerated bite off the end. His non-verbal response certainly not a means to delay speaking.

Erik shuddered. “Are you sure you’re not secretly American?”

With effort, Charles forced a grin as he finally replied, “Yes, but then again neither is my homeland highly sought after for its cuisine.”

Erik shuddered again, gesturing to his corndog-munching, American-born children and English-born Charles. “Heathens, all of you.” With mock sullenness he tucked in to his own sausage, apparently a cut above their corndogs, and both children giggled.

“Papa is _very_ presentness about food,” Peter offered.

“Do you mean pretentious?” Charles’ grin, this time, was a bit more genuine.

“Well whatever the word is that means like really really really _really_ snobby.” Peter dragged out the last ‘really’ for added effect.

“Just for that, I’m going to add anchovies and olives to our pizza tonight and we’ll see just how presentness I can be.”

The twins gasped and spoke in unison. “You _wouldn’t_.”

“Just watch me.” He turned a conspiratorial gaze to Charles. “What do you think? What other presentness ingredients could we add to make it extra snobby and delicious? Basil? Sun-dried tomatoes? What would you like?”

Before Charles could even begin to process a potential meaning, Wanda had latched on to her father’s words even faster than he had.

“Does that mean Charles is coming for supper tonight too? Can he sleep over again Papa?” Wanda began to bounce. “Can he? Can he?”

Though Peter had a face full of corndog he vigorously nodded to indicate his amenability to the plan.

Erik, though, was caught out in what he had surely only meant to be a joke and that faint colour Charles had been witness to twice already in the past day once again stained his cheekbones. “You’re- you’re welcome to join us, of course, but I… of course I understand completely if you have other things you need to do, so please… that is, I’m sure that you have other commitments, so please don’t feel in any way obligated to join us.”

Erik’s awkwardness was so painfully obvious, both in the lack of surety in his speech (a rarity in Charles’ experience) and in the sparks of discomfort coming from his mind, that Charles almost felt a need to fall over himself to assure Erik that he would not intrude on his family’s weekend activities any longer than closing time at the zoo.

“As I told Wanda earlier,” he began, “I should really set to work on my paper this evening. But- but thank you, perhaps another time.”

A quiet settled over the table after that. A quiet that was strained. All the lightheartedness of moments ago dissipated and replaced with disappointment— his, Wanda’s, Peter’s. Erik’s emotions were harder to read. The twins broadcasted, as all children did, having very little emotional reserve. Adults were different, most having learned to control and quash their emotions to enough of a degree that Charles did not generally read them unless they were heightened, experiencing a loss of control, or he made a point to do so. His desire to know Erik’s was as strong as it ever was, perhaps more so, after quiet admissions over late night tea, a charged midnight encounter, waking to banana pancakes and warmth, and heartfelt gratitude by the hippo tank.

Charles thoughts tangled around one another in the quiet. Vines of hope snagging on ones of distrust, wariness snarling around optimism.

What was this, here, now?

What could it be?

Could it be anything at all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the more extended time between updates!
> 
> I would love to know if you’re still enjoying the story :)

**Author's Note:**

> (this is very much a work in progress. Everything is subject to change, as evidenced by the fact that I have already changed the title twice)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover Art for- Ever Found Exactly What You Wanted (With Someone You Can't Have it With?)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13370796) by [JackyJango](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyJango/pseuds/JackyJango)




End file.
